The Sound of Thunder
by detective-sweetheart
Summary: She waits for the storm. And across the country, back at home in New York, he looks up to the sound of thunder cracking above him.


**A/N: Ok, people, you know the drill. SVU is not mine and never will be. This having been said, carry on. **

* * *

She watches the storm because she can.

It's one of the few things she can actually do on her own in this place. No one really gets why she does this, but the truth is, it's one of those things that makes her feel like she's back in New York City, even though she knows that the minute she opens her eyes again, she won't be. And the stupid thing about this is that it hurts.

If there was one thing she hadn't expected, that was it.

But it does hurt, and it does bother her to know that she was unable to tell the squad anything. Not a damn thing. Just take off with the Feds, turning herself into Persephone James…what the hell kind of name is that, anyway, Olivia thinks, and almost laughs out loud. It used to be that she didn't have time to think about people's names before. They were either the perp or the victim or someone that she and Elliot talked to…

Olivia bites her lip at the thought of her partner, and wills the rain to come.

It probably won't anytime soon, though. She's standing here on the top of an apartment building and wishing it was the precinct, wishing that instead of the silence, she could hear the city. That instead of the trees and actual yards of houses that she can see from where she is, she could see the skyscrapers and streetlights and the people walking on the sidewalk beneath her. She wishes she could turn around and see the roof access door opening to reveal either Elliot or Munch or Fin, come to tell her that, hey, they have a lead, or hey, there's a call, we gotta go.

But there will be no Elliot or Munch or Fin when this door opens, and it bothers her.

She gets the feeling that if she hadn't started in New York, she wouldn't be here now, trying to be someone she's not. And the prying questions coming from those she rooms with don't help. They know that Persephone is from New York, but they do not know she's really Olivia Benson, Detective Second Grade in the NYPD's Manhattan SVU. They think she is one of them, and she is not. She has given the some back story about this person she does not know, and they think that a dead end job and stupid apartment are all she left behind.

She wants to laugh at this, but she can't, because it isn't funny.

It is not a dead end job that she has left behind, and the apartment she's vacated for the time being is one she's been in for years now, and she wonders what will happen to it in the time that she is away. The Feds have said nothing to her about how long she will be gone. But it is not the apartment that matters to her, as much as it is her partner, and the rest of the squad, and the life she's lived for so long that being without it feels like her heart is missing. She made an alternate email address just so she could email them, but so far, she has not gotten any replies. She wonders if they will figure out that Persephone is her, and if they do, she hopes that they will reply.

Agent Porter is going to kill me, Olivia thinks at this point. But it's worth it.

The rain comes, suddenly, a single, solitary raindrop at first, hitting her face, because she's looking up towards the sky. And then it comes harder, faster, a torrent that she thinks just might shield her from herself. From everything she's feeling. At first, she'd wanted to do this. To go off in search of these people who were threatening the city she loved and the people in it, and the people who threatened to ruin anything and everything if only for their own selfish gains. But now that she has been away from home so long, she wonders if it was such a good idea. This is not where she belongs, and where she belongs is sitting at her desk in the squad room, kicking Elliot's feet because he's kicking hers while she looks across the aisle and talks to Munch and Fin.

She wonders how much longer she will have to be here.

Thunder cracks, loudly, making her look up again. The lightning she has not seen yet, because the sky is still somewhat light, even though the clouds are moving in, threatening to drown out what little light there is. Already the streetlights in this part of the neighborhood have come on. She can see little through the rain, though. If there is one thing that Olivia wants, it is the chance to talk to the guys, over the phone, to hear their voices, and know that they are still there, that they are not the figment of her imagination, something to keep her going while she is in this home away from home. But it is not home. She is here under pretenses, and when it is over, she will be Olivia Benson again, and these people will go off to wherever it is that they choose to go next…provided they don't get arrested.

It is too quiet here, Olivia muses, and longs for the sounds of the city again.

When she looks up a second time, she can see the lightning. And it makes her think of how in a moment, everything can change. How one event in her partner's life can directly affect her relationship with him. How an incident in a bus station can make them wonder where they're headed. How asking for a new partner screwed them up and threw them off track and pissed him off, and pissed her off even more, because she hadn't wanted to resort to it. She wonders if things will be ok between her and Elliot when she gets back, and wonders who they stuck him with while she was gone, and at the same time hopes that it is someone who knows how to put up with his crap to a certain extent and to tell him exactly where to go when he crosses the lines.

She hopes that he will realize that they don't always need each other to make it.

* * *

And just as she thinks about this, all the way across the country, back home in New York, Elliot Stabler steps out of the shadows in front of her apartment building, with an envelope in hand. It is the first of the month, and she is not there to make the payment that will ensure that her apartment will still be there if she returns…when she returns. He and the other two decided they couldn't possibly leave her hanging, and so they have taken care of it. And he has been the one delegated to leaving said payment for her building's superintendent or whatever it's called nowadays.

So he does, sliding the envelope with her name on it underneath the designated apartment door, before turning and leaving, without saying a word.

And as he does, he, too, can hear the sound of thunder cracking above him.


End file.
